


Visiting the Pokémon Centre

by Riona, salanaland



Series: Visitorverse [10]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU squared?, Gen, Pokemon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5727610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riona/pseuds/Riona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/salanaland/pseuds/salanaland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been tradition in the Assassin Brotherhood for over a thousand years: every novice receives an Eevee. In deciding what to evolve it into, you will discover yourself.</p>
<p>(Inexplicable AU of the Visitorverse AU: most of the Assassin’s Creed protagonists visit each other across the boundaries of time and space... and also they train Pokémon. Chapter One (Altaïr, Ezio, Edward, Haytham, Shay, Aveline, Connor, Desmond) and Chapter Two (Evie, Jacob) should be possible to follow if you haven't read the Visitorverse and just want a Pokémon crossover.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said I wouldn't write this. I'm sorry.
> 
> If you're not familiar with the Visitorverse concept, it's basically 'all the tagged characters keep spontaneously time-travelling into each other's lives.' There's a bit more to it than that, but that's essentially what you need to know if you're just here for the Pokémon.
> 
> If you're here for the visiting and don't know anything about Pokémon, [this image](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:Eeveelutions.png) will give you an idea of what most of the Pokémon mentioned look like!
> 
> In case there's any doubt, this is not actually Visitorverse canon.

It is a long-standing tradition in the Assassin Brotherhood: every novice receives an Eevee and must decide what to evolve it into. A test of character, and of how well one knows oneself.

“Look after her,” Al Mualim says, placing a tiny kit into Altaïr’s arms. “One day you will know who you are, and you will know what she must be.”

Altaïr knows who he is already, and he fully intends to evolve his Eevee into the form that will give him the greatest advantage in battle. But he doesn’t yet know what that form will be.

Umbreon is a popular choice, and Altaïr can see the value in having a Pokémon that can blend into the shadows. But there seems little point in choosing a Pokémon for its dark coat when their own cloaks are white.

Vaporeon? His inability to swim is a weakness he hates. A Vaporeon would be able to carry him over water. But a Jolteon would be swifter on land.

Time goes on, and he makes no decision. He is reborn as a novice again, he meets strange figures from the future, he discovers Al Mualim’s betrayal, and still he makes no decision. He feels further from a decision than ever, in fact, because he realises now that he never truly knew himself in the first place.

One day he is sitting at his desk, his Eevee sleeping on his lap. He is sketching out the schematics for his new hidden blade, the one that will let future Assassins keep all their fingers.

His Eevee starts to her feet suddenly. She blinks, twice, and sneezes, and shakes out her coat.

And then she leaps down from his lap, and she begins to glow.

She’s evolving.

Altaïr’s first instinct is to call out to her to stop. He doesn’t yet understand himself; he doesn’t know what form would best suit her.

And then he realises what she must be evolving into. The sunlight is streaming in through the windows. He thinks she’s fond of him; she’s always been affectionate.

And... it feels right. He wants to learn; he wants to know; he wants to seek out wisdom. He needs a Pokémon that can help him in that pursuit.

The glow fades. Altaïr holds out a hand, and his new Espeon rubs her head against it.

“She suits you, Mentor,” a voice says behind him.

There was a time when Altaïr would have started at the sudden noise, perhaps leapt at the intruder without thinking. But by this point he feels he can at least trust Ezio not to do him harm.

“I suppose she does,” Altaïr says, rubbing her under the chin.

His Espeon pricks up her ears suddenly. Pads over to Ezio. Twines herself around his legs.

“She sees you,” Altaïr says, startled.

“The psychic powers, perhaps,” Ezio says. He looks delighted.

“I would not expect her to take to you so quickly.”

“Perhaps she always knew I was here, even before she could see,” Ezio says, crouching to stroke her. “Or perhaps she simply recognises my charm.”

Altaïr turns away to hide his half-smile.

-

Ezio is given an Eevee on his thirteenth birthday, like Federico before him.

“Consider your options,” his father says. He opens the lid of a box to display a set of evolutionary stones, foaming and bubbling, flickering with inner fire, shot through with lightning. “Consider yourself. It may take years. It may take decades. But one day you will know who you truly are, and you will know which form will most suit you. Evolve him then, in the knowledge that you have made the correct decision.”

“Thank you, Father,” Ezio says, and he watches as his father locks the stones away in a drawer.

That evening, Ezio breaks into the drawer and evolves his Eevee into a Flareon. He means to conceal it from his father, but that becomes difficult when his bedclothes end up on fire.

“I expected nothing else,” his father says, with a weary smile, once Claudia’s Krabby has extinguished the flames.

A lifetime later, when Ezio is sitting on a bench in Firenze’s sunlight, when the other visitors have gathered to say farewell and his Flareon (elderly now, but time spent suspended in the Pokéball has stretched out his lifespan to match Ezio’s) is warming his lap, Haytham sits beside him.

“Did you ever regret evolving him so early?” Haytham asks.

Ezio laughs. “Cruel, to bring up a man’s regrets at the end of his life,” he says, stroking his Flareon’s mane. “But no. Sometimes the decision made rashly, in the moment, is the correct one.”

Haytham seems to take a moment to consider that. He glances at Connor, at Desmond, at Shay and Aveline.

“You and I are very different people, Ezio,” he says at last.

“Perhaps,” Ezio agrees. “But I am glad we have known each other.”

-

Walpole is dead, and that means that everything of his is now Edward’s. Pokémon included, of course.

He’s only carrying one Pokéball, but Edward can’t complain about its contents. Eevee can always fetch a good price. This one won’t get him as much as a breeding female would, but male Eevee are still in demand by trainers and pet-owners.

Edward’s planning to sell it at the earliest possible opportunity. He can’t stand the way the tiny thing keeps pawing at his cloak and looking sadly up at him, as if wondering why its former master’s clothes are on the wrong person.

But then his crew take a ship that turns out to be carrying a cargo of evolutionary stones, and, well...

Edward’s never seen a stone used. He’s curious. And there’s an obvious choice of which stone to use, conveniently enough.

He lets the Eevee out once he’s back on the deck of his _Murkrow_. It goes straight to his cloak and starts sniffing it, as it always does.

“You won’t find him here,” Edward tells it. “But I’ve got something else for you. C’mere.”

He holds out the Water Stone. The Eevee pads around his hand, looking at it cautiously.

Edward claps the stone to its side.

The glow is instant, so bright Edward has to shade his eyes. The stone’s turned hot in his hand, but a moment later it seems to disappear, as if it’s boiled away or been absorbed into the Eevee. And the Eevee is reshaping itself, the tail lengthening, the ruff thinning, the fins sprouting down its back...

The glow fades, and there’s a Vaporeon sitting in front of him.

Edward grins at it.

The Vaporeon stretches. It examines its legs, then its claws, and then starts turning in circles on the spot, apparently trying to get a good look at its tail.

Must be strange. Edward tries to picture how he’d feel if someone clapped a stone on _him_ and made him sprout gills. Well, in some ways it’d be convenient.

The Vaporeon cocks its head, perhaps listening to the waves, and suddenly bolts off at speed. It runs twice around the deck, then leaps straight off the side of the _Murkrow_.

That’s that, Edward thinks for a moment. This Vaporeon’s going to swim across the seas and spend the rest of its life searching for Walpole, and he’ll have missed out on an excellent profit.

But then he crosses the deck and looks over the edge, and the Vaporeon’s still there, swimming around his ship in happy circles. Edward has to laugh at the sight.

Eventually the Vaporeon clambers back up onto the deck and shakes itself off (all over the complaining crew), and trots straight over to Edward. It seems far livelier than it ever did as an Eevee.

“Enjoyed your swim?” Edward asks.

The Vaporeon nudges against his legs in what Edward quickly recognises as a request for food. He goes down into the hold – they always keep food suitable for Water Pokémon in stock – and returns with a bowl of pellets. The Vaporeon eats ravenously and then falls asleep on his shoes, Walpole apparently forgotten.

“You’re extremely disloyal,” Edward informs it.

“Maybe he found someone more deserving of his loyalties.”

Edward looks around to see Shay; he hadn’t heard him arrive. “More deserving than the Assassin who went to the other side?” he asks, innocently. He’s still not fully clear on this Assassin-and-Templar business, but he has some idea of why Shay’s visits with the others often seem uncomfortable.

Shay winces. “See if I ever pay you a compliment again.”

Edward smirks. “Anyway, he’s in for a nasty shock, if that’s what he thinks. I’m on my way to sell him.”

“No, you’re not,” Shay says. “If you wanted to sell him, you’d have done it when he was an Eevee. He’d’ve been taken up by anyone who wanted a Sylveon, an Umbreon, any of the -eons. You knew you were cutting his value when you evolved him.”

“I wanted to see what it was like,” Edward says, after a moment’s pause.

Shay folds his arms. “You wanted a Vaporeon.”

Edward looks down at the Pokémon sleeping on his feet.

“It’s possible,” he admits.

Kidd’s got a lady Umbreon, hasn’t he? Maybe they can breed some kits to sell.

-

“You chose a Dark type for its underhanded tactics?” Connor asks.

“I didn’t _choose_ anything,” Haytham says. “She evolved of her own accord.”

Connor stares at his father’s Umbreon. An Eevee will only evolve into an Umbreon if it truly loves its owner, he knows.

“She was a gift from my father,” Haytham says, as if reading his thoughts. “I’ve known her a very long time. Do you think she would have stayed with me if I treated her cruelly? Do you think I would have treated her cruelly in the first place?”

“If you can show kindness to a Pokémon,” Connor says, “why not to a human being? Why do you kill the men who give us information?”

“She is mine,” Haytham says. “Informants are nothing but a liability to me.”

“ _I_ am yours,” Connor says. “And I ask you to leave those men alive. Am I anything to you?”

Haytham looks at him for a moment.

“Don’t try to manipulate me, Connor; it won’t work,” he says at last.

“Is it manipulation to make a request of one’s father?”

“You’re an Assassin,” Haytham says. “I am a Templar. We’re trying to manipulate each other with every word we speak.”

“And if I only want to have a conversation?” Connor asks.

Haytham shakes his head. “That’s for other families, Connor. It’s too late for us.”

-

Shay falls off the ledge with a bullet in his shoulder, and his Eevee falls with him. He tries to reach out for her, but he’s barely conscious already, the pain he’s in, and a second later he plunges into the freezing waters.

When he wakes, when he somehow finds himself alive and in the care of the Finnegans, the first thing he does is ask after her.

“Was there an Eevee with me? When I was brought here?”

“I’m sorry,” Mrs Finnegan says, quietly. “There were no Pokémon at all.”

He was expecting nothing else, but it still twists in his gut. If he could have kept just one friend with him, maybe making an enemy of the others would be easier to bear.

It’s a good while later, and he’s exploring the frozen wreck of a ship, when he hears movement. He drops into a crouch, laying a hand on his pistol. He’s almost certain he heard the roar of a Beartic not long ago, and he’s not keen on meeting the voice’s owner.

Something creeps out of a vast split in the ship’s hull, and his first reaction is relief – not nearly large enough to be a Beartic, not that that means it can’t be dangerous – before he registers what it actually is.

It’s a Glaceon.

A _Glaceon?_ Don’t see many of those in the wild.

He creeps a little nearer, and the Glaceon stills for a moment. He’s expecting it to run, but...

It comes closer. Just a couple of steps, hesitant.

“Hello,” Shay says, keeping his voice soft. “Where’ve you come from?”

And then he sees that the tip of its ear is missing. The left, just like the damage his own Eevee took when they were fleeing Lisbon.

It’s impossible. His Eevee fell into the freezing waters with him; she can’t possibly have survived. Not unless...

Not unless she evolved into something that could take the cold.

“Do we know each other?” Shay asks quietly, holding out his hand to the Glaceon.

-

Aveline visits the evening after Shay’s Glaceon tracks him down.

“I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time around Templars,” she says, warily.

Shay throws another branch onto the fire. “I could say the same of you.”

“Around Templars who leave with their lives,” Aveline amends.

There’s not much Shay can say to counter that. He waits for her to speak again.

“If you can’t return to us, I understand,” Aveline says. “But joining the other side... I already have one enemy who can appear in my life at any moment of the day. That’s more than enough.”

“Whatever happens, I won’t seek to do you harm.”

“Will you not?” Aveline asks. “Our lives overlap. What if your new Templar masters send you to kill me? Or someone I love?”

Shay tries to swallow down the thought, but it sticks in his throat.

“Well, I’ve already disobeyed my masters once,” he says.

“So you’re planning to disobey the Templars before you’ve even joined them?” Aveline asks. “It’s not exactly an auspicious start.”

“I’m planning to think about what they ask me to do,” Shay says. “They haven’t sent me to kill you yet. Not always a bad thing, questioning orders.”

Aveline falls silent for a moment. Watches his Glaceon pad around the camp, never getting too close to the fire. Shay’s still at the stage where he constantly has to look over at his Pokémon, just to make sure she’s still there.

“She’s beautiful,” Aveline says. “Does she have a name?”

He never really found the right name for her when she was an Eevee. It didn’t raise any eyebrows – a lot of people don’t name their Pokémon, and nameless Pokémon are particularly common amongst the Assassins, where it can be painful to get too attached – but he’s always felt she should have some sort of identity.

He looks at her now, and he knows what her name has to be.

“Lisbon,” he says. “So I won’t forget.”

-

“A Sylveon?”

“Do you have something to say?” Aveline asks.

“It’s so... pretty,” Edward says, dubiously. “Doesn’t really strike terror into the hearts of your enemies, does it?”

“I mean to strike a blade into the hearts of my enemies,” Aveline says. “If I precede it with terror, do you imagine they will let me come close?”

“Still,” Edward says. “All these bows and ribbons. It doesn’t exactly say ‘fearsome assassin’.”

“That’s rather the point,” Aveline says. “Am I being lectured about ‘pretty’ Pokémon by the fearsome pirate who owns a Vaporeon?”

Edward pauses.

“Well, that’s different,” he says.

“How so?”

Edward frowns at her. “Because my Vaporeon is perfect, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Aveline says.

-

Connor expends no thought on what he will evolve his Eevee into. They hunt together, they fight together. Once he shows his Eevee a display of evolutionary stones in a shop window and asks his opinion. The Eevee turns away, and what right does Connor have to override that decision?

One day, when they are tracking a Sawsbuck through dense woods, his Eevee freezes, then sprints off to the west.

When Connor eventually catches up, his Eevee is sitting on top of a moss-covered rock and glowing. Connor pauses and waits until the Eevee has settled into his new shape.

“He is a Leafeon,” Connor informs Achilles, when they next see each other.

“Well, yes,” Achilles says. “Obviously. Grass. Growth and change. The work you’re doing to develop this place. Not to mention the amount of time you spend in the woods. I was wondering how long it would take you.”

“I did not choose the form myself,” Connor says. “He chose it.”

“Then he is a Pokémon who knows and cares about his master,” Achilles says. “Look after him, won’t you?”

Connor nods.

-

There was a new litter of Eevee not long ago. They’ve all been distributed to novices, apart from one: the runt of the litter, tiny, unwanted. Desmond’s been stopping by the room where she’s kept every day, worrying about what’s going to happen to her. They’re saying she’s bad breeding stock, she can’t manage any attacks, and if she doesn’t learn to be useful soon...

He goes to take one more look at her on his sixteenth birthday, before he leaves. She’s sitting in her cage and crying, a thin noise that seems to saw into Desmond’s chest. It’d be kinder to keep her in a Pokéball, probably, but that’d interfere with the ceremonial ‘catching’.

Traditions are screwed up sometimes.

Desmond jolts when he realises there’s another man in the room. Dressed in Assassin robes, ceremonial-looking ones that Desmond hasn’t seen before, white and simple with a red sash.

And then the man looks at Desmond, and Desmond realises he hasn’t actually seen this guy before either. There’s something familiar in the face, but he’s pretty sure it’s a stranger.

They don’t get many strangers on the farm.

“Who are you?” Desmond asks. He probably shouldn’t draw any attention today, not if he’s going to escape this place, but he can’t help himself.

“A friend,” the man says. “You may call me Altaïr.”

If he weren’t so nervous, Desmond would laugh. “Do the elders know you’re going around calling yourself that?”

“Is she yours yet?” the man asks, gesturing to the Eevee.

This is already a very weird conversation. “I’m not a novice yet. And they say she can’t fight, so, uh, I don’t think they’re planning to give her to anyone.”

“You do not need a weapon, Desmond,” the man says. “You need company.”

Desmond stares at him.

“Soon enough, you will meet me again, and it will be in a situation where you need friends,” the man says. “I cannot always be with you.” For a moment, he looks almost ashamed. “And I may not always be friendly. Do you know who keeps the keys to her cage?”

Desmond nods wordlessly.

“Take her when you leave. Be safe.”

And when Desmond escapes, with alarms blaring behind him and a Pokéball on his belt, he takes heart in the knowledge that someone supports his choice. A strange, strange stranger who calls himself Altaïr, perhaps, but _someone_.

-

Almost a decade later, Desmond lies on the floor of the Precursor temple, his Eevee sleeping on his chest, and thinks.

He still hasn’t evolved her. He’s always vaguely wondered whether it’s something he should do. But he likes the idea behind the Assassin tradition, the concept of evolving your Eevee when you know who you really are, and... well, he barely knows what his own name is half the time, after all these months in the Animus.

Perhaps he’ll decide. Or perhaps he won’t. Perhaps he’ll end up with an Espeon like Altaïr, a Flareon like Ezio, an Umbreon like Haytham. Perhaps he’ll have a Jolteon, just to be different.

Perhaps he’ll keep her like this, an Eevee, small and weak and perfect.

Right now she’s potential, she’s a set of possibilities. Everything else in his life is controlled by other people right now. Sometimes it feels like her evolution is the only decision he has left open to him. He doesn’t really want to take that away yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, accidentally wrote a second chapter about the Frye twins. This is a bit of a weird one; it doesn't actually contain visiting, but it's very definitely in the same _Assassin's Creed/Pokémon_ universe as the first chapter, so it would seem odd to post it separately.

Evie and her brother weren’t allowed Pokémon when they were growing up; their father insisted that they had to learn to defend themselves before they learnt to depend on others. He always said he would give them the traditional Eevee when he deemed them ready for it. Evie still doesn’t know exactly what he meant by _ready_.

It’s immaterial now, in any case. Father is dead, and Evie will be one of the few Assassins with no part in the tradition she was named for.

-

“Evie! Eeeeeevie.”

Evie cracks her eyes open. It’s still half-dark. The train to Croydon isn’t until this afternoon.

“Jacob, go away,” she mutters.

“Evie, bat her in the face.”

“What?” Evie asks, and then something strikes her gently on the cheek. She sits up sharply, grabbing for the knife she keeps beside the bed.

Jacob catches her wrists.

“Did you think I was talking to you?” he asks, grinning.

“Jacob, what is going—”

“Evie, Growl.”

“That wasn’t funny when we were children; I don’t know why you think it would be now,” Evie says. “I’m not a Pokémon.”

“Excellent growling,” Jacob says, “but I still wasn’t talking to you.”

And then Evie becomes aware of the least threatening growl she’s ever heard, coming from somewhere behind her.

She looks back.

There’s an Eevee standing on her pillow.

“Good _boy_ ,” Jacob says fondly, leaning past her to fuss it behind the ears. “Eevee, meet Evie. She’s your new owner. I know she has the same name as you, but she was here first, so you’ll have to let her keep it.”

Evie stares at the Eevee. “What?”

“I don’t know what Father was thinking,” Jacob says. “It’s obvious you’ve been ready for this for years. Go on; he’s yours.”

Evie shakes her head. “No. I can’t. Father obviously had a reason, he clearly thought I wasn’t prepared for the responsibility—”

“Evie,” Jacob says, lifting the Eevee and plonking it firmly into her arms, “children are allowed Pokémon when they’re ten, and I happen to know at least one of us is more mature than a ten-year-old.”

“I...”

The Eevee is rubbing its cheek against the back of her hand. She brings up her other hand to stroke it, cautiously. It doesn’t disappear. She can feel its heartbeat under its fur.

“Where did you steal it from?” she asks.

“What makes you think I stole it?”

“Oh, you caught the last wild Eevee in England?”

“I could have bought it,” Jacob objects.

“Oh, yes,” Evie says. “With your vast sterling reserves. Because you’re always so careful with your money. Where did you steal it from?”

Jacob pauses.

“All right,” he says. “It was an evolution research laboratory. I haven’t deprived anyone of their beloved pet. I just thought...” He shrugs. “Well, you like your Assassin traditions. I know I’m not Father, but I don’t see why it shouldn’t work coming from me.”

“It’s passed down from the parent or mentor, traditionally,” Evie says, combing her fingers through her Eevee’s ruff. “But I suppose you’ll do.”

Jacob breaks into a grin and sits down on the side of the bed. “What are you going to name him?”

She hasn’t thought about it. To be fair, she’s barely had time to accept this is really happening. “Does it need a name?”

“You’re planning to be Evie and Eevee?” Jacob asks. “Don’t let me stand in your way. It’d be very entertaining.”

When he puts it like that...

“We’ll be Evie and Jacob,” Evie says. “You’ve been replaced.”

Jacob laughs. “Oh, _please_ tell me you’re serious.”

Evie shakes her head. “One Jacob in my life is more than enough. I’ll give some thought to a name.”

She watches her new Pokémon worrying her sleeve for a moment – that’s a habit she’ll have to discourage – and suddenly something occurs to her.

“Did _you_ want an Eevee?” she asks. “I didn’t think about – I mean, with Father gone...”

“Don’t be daft,” Jacob says, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “I already _have_ an Evie.”

-

She visits every Pokémon trader in town, not knowing what she’s looking for. A Growlithe catches her eye at one point. Jacob would dote on it, no doubt, but he _cannot_ be allowed to have a Fire type. The mere thought of it makes her stomach curl up in horror.

A Flying type, perhaps. Jacob may not be one for tradition, but she feels he should have _some_ sort of Pokémon with ties to the Assassins, and the Brotherhood has long had an affinity for Flying types. Always useful, the ability to strike from above.

And then she finds the perfect Pokémon for him. She has to empty her savings for it, near enough. A rash move, and one she’ll most likely regret later. But it feels like her new Eevee’s Pokéball is burning a hole in her side.

She wants to show she appreciates Jacob’s unusual thoughtfulness. Or perhaps she just hates being in debt to him. Either way, she doesn’t have a choice.

-

She finds Jacob on a rooftop eventually. Of course she does. Well, there are worse places.

“I’ve got you a present,” she says, producing the Pokéball. “This makes us even.”

Jacob laughs in delight. “You _didn’t_. Evie, you’re magnificent.”

“You don’t know what it is yet,” Evie points out. “I could have bought you a Magikarp.”

“Which would be the best present of all,” Jacob says. “Proof you’ve finally developed a sense of humour.”

“I _have_ a sense of – I’ll take this back to the dealer, shall I?”

“Not before I see what it is,” Jacob says, snatching it neatly out of her hand. “If I know you, you’ve gone and caught Arceus just to make me look inadequate.”

“Right,” Evie says. “I’m afraid this might be rather a disappointment, if you’re expecting the creator of the universe.”

Jacob presses the button twice. The Pokéball opens, and his gift bursts out. Wings, a tail, a vicious beak, all made of lightweight razor-sharp steel...

A Skarmory isn’t exactly subtle, but subtlety’s never really been a part of Jacob’s approach. And its feathers can be used as knives, which should be handy if Jacob ever forgets to bring his weapons on a mission again.

“Oh, _Evie_ ,” Jacob breathes. “You’re the best twin I’ve ever had. I’m going to name it after you.”

“Don’t you dare.” It’s confusing enough that Jacob’s taken to calling her Eevee ‘Jacob’ at every opportunity. Troublingly, Evie can feel the name starting to stick. Perhaps she can shorten it to ‘Jay’.

-

They jump on a train to London and hide in a carriage transporting locked chests. And, well, Evie’s never been able to resist a lock.

She gets the lid of the chest she’s leaning against open, and she looks inside.

Evolutionary stones.

Her thoughts go at once to Jay. This is an opportunity. Or it _would_ be if she wanted a Vaporeon, a Jolteon, a Flareon.

Evie’s known since her childhood that she would be given an Eevee one day, even if she wasn’t expecting it to come from Jacob, and she’s given a lot of thought to what to evolve it into. It’ll be an Umbreon. A Pokémon that can blend into the shadows, a Pokémon that rewards strategic thought. She’s always known.

She thinks about London.

She looks back at Jacob, who’s let his Skarmory out to feed it.

She’s always known. She doesn’t make rash decisions. Father had an Umbreon, and she certainly can’t presume to know better than him.

-

“Went for a Jolteon, did you?” Jacob asks. “I could’ve sworn you’d choose Umbreon. Fits your aesthetic better, doesn’t it?”

“I thought a Jolteon would help me pass unnoticed,” Evie says. “Industry attracts Electric types. If we’re going to London...”

“Right,” Jacob says, stroking his Skarmory with alarming carelessness. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to give him a Pokémon essentially made out of blades. “Nothing to do with the fact that electricity’s strong against Flying types, of course.”

“Believe it or not, Jacob, not every decision I make revolves around you.”

“You’re not about to challenge me to a fight, then?”

Evie tries not to smirk too obviously. “Of _course_ I’m going to challenge you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is salanaland here, posting my first ever fic with Pokémon in it...

When Shay wakes to find his Glaceon, Lisbon, curled up with Aveline's Sylveon, he thinks nothing of it. The two of them are as snuggly as their trainers, after all. But when Lisbon doesn't follow him out of the bedroom, Shay grows worried. Drawing closer, he finds her curled around an egg, the first they've produced in years.

"Oh!" Aveline breathes behind him. "It's lovely, isn't it?"

Shay smiles and pulls her close for a kiss. "It is."

Aveline smirks. "And I know exactly who could use an Eevee to care for, this time." It's obvious to Shay: their son Rory is a novice Assassin, almost ready for an Eevee of his own, and he’s taken spectacular care of his Meowth.

Shay frowns. "He wouldn't accept it from me." Ever since Rory became a novice, he's treated his father with the particular frigid disdain he reserves for Templars. 

Aveline hugs him tenderly. "I'll arrange it." She pries the egg from her Sylveon's grasp and takes it away. Shay feels a pang of loss, and tells Lisbon, "Rory will look after your egg, I'm sure of it." The Glaceon looks up at him mournfully and nuzzles his leg.

Rory does take care of the egg, bundling it carefully and strapping it to his chest as he trains. And when, one day, he comes home from training with a tiny, perfect Eevee, his whole face is lit up with the biggest smile Shay has ever seen on his son.

Rory takes his Pokémon’s training as seriously as he takes his own, and Shay isn't at all surprised a few years later to see him come home from a late night mission with an Umbreon at his side. "Congratulations," Shay says, a catch in his throat--which has been happening worryingly frequently of late, but this time he's sure it's pure emotion.

"Thanks," Rory breathes, and he looks like nothing could dampen his joy.

Except Shay manages to, of course, when he unthinkingly says, "We were right to give you Haytham as a middle name; he had an Umbreon, too."

Rory's face falls, and he runs from the room. Shay never sees him again.

Rory abandons New Orleans the next morning, leaving behind his Umbreon with a terse note to the effect that he doesn't need the kind of Pokémon a Templar would train. They keep the Umbreon in the house, Shay and Aveline, but he doesn't listen to them, and in the stress of coping with Shay's illness, Aveline carelessly leaves a door open. The Pokémon slips out, vanishing into the night without a trace.

Years later, after Shay has been buried for some time and Rory has returned home, he's cleaning up a room for his own son--the boy is old enough now not to have to share the nursery with his gaggle of rowdy cousins. Rory is dusting off a shelf when he hears soft footsteps. He whirls around, hidden blades ready, but it's just his Umbreon, the one he left behind when he ran to Uncle Connor's house, trying futilely to get away from anything that would remind him of Templars. While he was gone, his father had sickened and died, and Rory had never found out what happened to his abandoned Umbreon.

"Hey, boy," he whispers, holding out a hand for the Pokémon to sniff. He doesn't have any right to the kind of friendship an Umbreon gives, not anymore, but...

The Pokémon hums softly and nuzzles Rory’s hand, and he smiles. "Come on, old friend," he says, stroking the black and gold fur. "Let me introduce you to my son, Patrick.”


End file.
